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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945614">In The Woods Somewhere</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immamausoleum/pseuds/Immamausoleum'>Immamausoleum</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenJaegerjaques/pseuds/whispers-in-the-chrysalis'>whispers-in-the-chrysalis (RenJaegerjaques)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cannon Divergent, Casefic? Sorta?, Gaslighting, Gore, Hallucinations, Hannibal (TV) Season/Series 01, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Someone Help Will Graham, Unreliable Narrator, Wendigo, Will Graham Has Encephalitis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:35:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Immamausoleum/pseuds/Immamausoleum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RenJaegerjaques/pseuds/whispers-in-the-chrysalis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Will blinks and gasps for breath, disoriented as he takes in his surroundings. He’s-</p>
<p>
  <em> In the woods, the scent of decaying leaves floods his senses, heavy at the back of his throat..</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>At the crime lab, holding a wooden figure of a fox that’s encased in an evidence bag in his gloved hands.. He turns it slowly, listening as Beverly speaks to him- “It was found in her chest cavity where her heart should be…. Same as the last one, with the bird.. Different kind of wood, though….” </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>On his fathers boat, a block of wood in his small hands as he carefully shaves it down with the pocket knife his father had given him for his tenth birthday- Only the blade slips and slices deep into the pad of his thumb, and bright red wells up from the cut and soaks into the woods absorbent fibers..<em></em></em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>He’s in his yard.</em>
  </em>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>MHBB2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Appointment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello lovelies! It's been quite a while since I've written for the Hannibal fandom, or at all- It's been such a relief for me to be able to put my focus and effort into something and I'm so glad that I signed up for 2020's Murder Husbands Big Bang even though I've felt pretty swamped by everything happening these days- Pushing my comfort zone and leaping for it was one of the best decisions I'd made in the entirety of that hellish year. </p>
<p>My partner for this event whispers-in-the-chrysalis has been so wonderful to work with, and did an absolutely phenomenal job bringing this story to life with their art!! While I've embedded their work in the fic for you to see as you read, I'll also link their tumblr post here so that you can go give it some love!! </p>
<p>https://whispers-in-the-chrysalis.tumblr.com/post/641154059751112704/ive-been-waiting-for-so-long-and-finally-im-able</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
“Foxes have made significant appearances in the folklores of many cultures- Predominantly in Europe and eastern Asia. Often as a figure of cunning, or trickery.. Othertimes a creature of guidance, and protection. They’ve long been known to be more in tune with the forests than any other inhabitants... Some would even leave them offerings as if they were deities.. Versatile creatures.” Hannibal seems to muse on that thought for a moment, smoothing his thumb over the engravings in his pen as Will watches..  “Although something tells me your killer isn’t aiming to paint his victim as a symbol of guidance.”<br/>
<br/>
His voice is calm, almost melodic- As it always is in their sessions, the subtle curl of his accent and the warmth of his tone making him pleasing to listen to, akin to the low crackle of a fire.. Will knows it’s intentional, the way it’s formulated to lower his hackles, put his mind at ease.. Usually that would irritate him, make him feel like some animal that needs spoken to softly lest he spook- But Hannibal seems to make it work regardless.. Something about the man himself, he supposes.. But that’s not what he should be thinking about right now, he needs to <em> focus </em> ..<br/>
<br/>
“No.. No I don’t think so. He’s a slippery one, it’s hard to get a grasp on his intent, or his ah.. Mindset, I suppose..” Will quiets for a moment, weighing his thoughts, trying to find the <em> words </em> for them that can convey the images that come to mind at the thought of this killer.. “It’s all.. muddy. He’s dedicated, though. Carved the figurines by hand with this exact intention, didn’t sacrifice detail for haste- It takes a while to make them that exact..” Will is pacing the office as he speaks, eyes roving over the textured and antiquated book covers that line Hannibal’s bookshelves in perfect order- He can <em> feel </em>  the soft leather of their spines along his fingertips, even as he holds back from letting himself reach out and touch… Though Hannibal never seems to mind his sensory seeking tendencies.. Has never <em> complained </em> . His office is so full of texture, Will can’t help but wonder if that, too is intentional.. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he even chooses the type of wood he carves them from with a certain intention..” The first kill- A dove, had been carved of cherry wood… Symbolism for Spring, or optimism.. Or to represent the impermanence of life, a common theme in Buddhism.. Hannibal’s voice pulls him from his thoughts once more-<br/>
<br/>
“A talented artist, I must admit.. If only he didn’t put his talent to such destructive use... Is he painting- or more appropriately, <em> carving </em>  the victim to be a liar, then? A deceptive and elusive woman, perhaps?” the man asks, head tilting with intrigue as he watches Will’s movements with an attentive stillness- Not unlike one of Will’s dogs when they’re waiting for him to take a hint and feed them.. An amusing thought.. If his nervous pacing makes Hannibal agitated or frustrated, he doesn’t show it, though.<br/>
<br/>
“Maybe so.. Interviews with people who knew her didn’t give us anything like that to work with- But people aren’t fond of speaking ill of the dead, hard to get a true report of what she was like.. Could have just been a perceived foxishness, though. He saw her as.. ” And that’s where he falls short, comes to a standstill in front of his usual seat, his hands falling to the familiar upholstered leather of it’s backing.. He can see her eyes in his mind, a clever and piercing grey as she smiled- Sharp teeth glinting in the light... “Something mischievous, playful. He admired her cunning, and her freedom… I’m not sure it was personal, though.” Upon meeting her the Carver had named her Fox, and from then on that’s what she was.. Whether or not she knew.<br/>
<br/>
“Not an insult to her nature but praise, then? Do you think these are traits that he is envious of? You felt the same about the Carver’s last kill, if I remember correctly.. The Dove.” Wings forever poised as if moments before flight.. “Though I am curious Will, what associations come to your mind when met with the imagery of a fox?” Hannibal asks, watching as Will considers settling into the seat, patient.. Will always settles, eventually- Just some appointments take him longer than others, especially with cases like these..<br/>
<br/>
“Nothing that I think would be particularly useful in the case, it’s more of a personal experience..” Will circles around the glass side-table beside the chair, hand trailing over the cool smooth polish of it- Unconsciously leaving the lines of his fingerprints on its surface.<br/>
<br/>
“Occasionally we discuss your cases if that’s what’s beneficial to you, but this is your therapy hour above all else, Will. My role isn’t in assisting you in solving the case but in helping you come to a better understanding of your own thoughts.”<br/>
<br/>
Hannibal is good at that, helping Will to sort his thoughts into some semblance of order- Carefully pressing for information without being forceful, mindful of Will’s barriers.. He seems to understand what Will means when he expresses them the best way he knows how, rather than asking Will to drop the metaphors as other shrinks have in the past.. Instead it’s like he speaks Will’s language..<br/>
<br/>
“Besides, it can be helpful to step away from a puzzle for a time, return with new perspective..” Hannibal continues, politely toeing the line of Will’s line in the sand..<br/>
<br/>
" <em> You’d </em>  make a good fox, you know.. They’re also symbols of curiosity, and whimsy.. You’re certainly knowledgeable enough for it, too.” Will accuses lightly, diverting the conversation from himself for a moment. Hannibal’s eyes are almost the right color, he thinks idly, finally guiding himself to a seat across from the other man- Which makes Hannibal look undeniably pleased, though whether it’s because Will has seated himself or likened him to a fox, he can’t tell. It’s a good look on Hannibal, though.. Sometimes Will thinks he can see something a little more alike what Hannibal had said of foxes- That certain edge of cunning that should be worrying. Will isn’t worried.<br/>
<br/>
Something about this case has ensnared Will, more than most of the others have.. It’s served to remind him of his own childhood, paths he’s carefully avoided treading for years.. He tries not to make a habit of looking back. But maybe Hannibal is right to have him discuss it, though this is hardly something influential enough to have shaped him into the man he is today.. It’s just present in his mind, lately- Stirred into his thoughts by recent events..<br/>
<br/>
“My association is that foxes are… Noisy things.” he says, finally making the conscious decision to let Hannibal in on this particular memory, when the man chooses not to rise to the initial comparison to the animal, huffing a soft breath of a laugh at the memory, shaking his head a little as Hannibal watches- His gaze is focused and clear as he listens, the expression on his face encouraging Will to continue.<br/>
<br/>
  “When I was a kid.. Ten… Or eleven..?” He doesn’t know- The details are all fuzzed in his mind, side-effect of youth.. “Young, anyway. My dad and I stayed in Georgia for a little while, and uhm..” Will pauses, rubs his face with a rough palm and swallows as he’s immersed in the world of his memories.. The distinct and earthy scent of decaying leaves fills his senses, sitting heavy at the back of his throat.. The moon hangs suspended over the trees, it’s light doing little to pierce the humming darkness that can be felt around him.. When he breathed he could <em> taste </em>  it.<br/>
<br/>
“My dad had been out late for work, he was working almost constantly to keep us afloat really, so I was alone a lot, and I.. I couldn’t sleep. I remember sitting on the porch, and the moon was up but it was.. It was <em> dark.. </em>.“</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I Prayed My Mind Be Good to Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Will blinks and gasps for breath, disoriented as he takes in his surroundings. He’s-</p>
<p>
  <em>In the woods, the scent of decaying leaves floods his senses, heavy at the back of his throat..</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>At the crime lab, holding a wooden figure of a fox that’s encased in an evidence bag in his gloved hands.. He turns it slowly, listening as Beverly speaks to him- “It was found in her chest cavity where her heart should be…. Same as the last one, with the bird.. Different kind of wood, though….” -</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>On his fathers boat, a block of wood in his small hands as he carefully shaves it down with the pocket knife his father had given him for his tenth birthday- Only the blade slips and slices deep into the pad of his thumb, and bright red wells up from the cut and soaks into the woods absorbent fibers-</em>
</p>
<p>He’s in his yard.</p>
<p>The dogs are milling about around him, snuffling through the bushes and doing their business like nothing is amiss.. Fog curls and shifts in their wake, fanned about by wagging tails. Winston, seeming to notice Will’s confusion, licks his hand and looks up at him beseechingly until he’s pet. The dog serves to anchor the man, soft fur between Will’s fingers, his flank pressing against Will’s leg, warm and solid.. <em>Real</em>. Or at least.. Will thinks so. </p>
<p> “My name is Will Graham, it’s..” He pauses, looks to the moon for guidance, seeking some of gauge of time from its position..  “Somewhere around 10 P.M.. I’m in my front yard, in Wolftrap Virginia, and I’m… taking out my seven dogs.” he says slowly, forcing a calm to his voice that he doesn’t feel. He runs a trembling hand over the brindle dogs fur, trying to place the last thing he remembers..  He’d been.. At the lab? No.. No, he’d just been at an appointment with Doctor Lecter, discussing his last case.. The Carver.. He’s lost time again. </p>
<p>Hailing his dogs with a short whistle, Will leads them inside and shuts the door so not to let out the heat of his home. Bracing himself back against the cool surface of the door, he does a head count- Ensuring everyone is present... The dogs happily settle themselves into their usual spots, and only then does Will close his eyes for a moment, head bumping back against the door with a dull <em>thunk</em>. </p>
<p> His skull is throbbing, a sharp ache behind his eyes like damn ice pick lobotomy, and no amount of rubbing his temples or squeezing the bridge of his nose will make it ease up.. Stumbling for his bathroom, he locates his aspirin in the medicine cabinet above the sink, shaking out two of them from the bottle onto his palm and downing them with water swallowed straight from the tap. His own face in the mirror is pale as he braces himself against the sink, glowing with a sheen of sweat that soaks into the dark curls of his hair- Maybe he’s sick...Or maybe it’s just stress.. It’s hard to tell these days.. </p>
<p>Next he finds his phone. It’s time reads 10:23, so he wasn’t that far off.. No missed calls, no new texts.. There’s an answered incoming call that he doesn’t remember participating in.. From Jack, it lasted only a few minutes.. So there can’t have been a new scene, he wouldn’t be home right now if it was a new scene anyway… Likely just a check-in, possibly new information.. There’s a growing sense of unease and distress building within him- It’s deeply uncomfortable to see evidence of the last few hours lived and not <em>remembering</em> any of it. Anything can happen in that span of time..</p>
<p> Feeling himself begin to panic, he doesn’t realize he’s decided to call Hannibal until the dial-tone rings rings out from the speakers and he belatedly brings the device up to his ear, taking in a shaky gasp of air and praying Hannibal will answer- Or that he won’t. It’s late, far beyond a reasonable hour to be calling one’s psychiatrist... But before he’s given the chance to hang up, Hannibal’s voice comes in smooth through the other end-</p>
<p> <em>“Hello?..Will?”  </em>He doesn’t sound as if he’s just been woken up, at least. He sounds alert, maybe confused as to why Will is calling.. And a little tinny through the speakers of Will’s phone.  </p>
<p>“Dr. Lecter..” Will starts, swallowing thickly- His voice had come out rougher than he’d intended. “I’m sorry, I haven’t interrupted you in anything have I..?” </p>
<p>  “<em>Not at all, I have something in the oven at the moment but nothing pressing. Has something happened?” </em></p>
<p>Will feels a flush of guilt at the clear edge of concern that he can hear creep up in Hannibal’s voice, forces himself to take a deep breath against the tightness of his chest- The sweat on his skin is clammy and uncomfortable, and he stands up properly to scratch at the nape of his neck with the hand not holding his phone as he answers. “ I.. I think I’ve lost time again.. Do you know when I left your office?” He asks, sounding just about as uncertain as he feels. </p>
<p> <em>“We went over our usual hour by thirty minutes, give or take- What’s the last thing that you remember?” </em> The calm that takes over in Hannibal’s tone is enough to begin seeping into Will like a balm to his frayed nerves- He can visualize the man at home in his kitchen, leaning back against a counter in his pristine apron with rolled up sleeves, his wrists and forearms exposed.. He looks good like that.. In his element, the kitchen being the heart of Hannibal’s home..</p>
<p>Will scrubs his palm over his face, feels the rough texture of his facial hair to let the sensation ground him. “Uh..” The case, with the fox, and the Carver.. Will had been a little late to his appointment because Jack had been insistent that he come to the lab. “I was.. was telling you about the recent case..” </p>
<p> <em>“Yes, Will.. You told me of an experience you’d had with foxes as a child.. Do you recall anything beyond that?” </em></p>
<p>Will tries, he does but all he gets for his efforts is a redoubling of the sharp throbbing in his skull, shaking his head in the negative before he realizes Hannibal can’t actually see him, isn’t <em>actually</em> in the room with him, vivid as his imagination may be. “No.. No nothing. I don’t remember coming home, just… I woke up in my yard a few minutes ago, taking out the dogs.” </p>
<p><em>“Well.. Let’s retrace your steps, shall we? Are your keys where they belong? Your car?</em>” In his mind, Hannibal turns to look inside of his oven to ensure everything is as it should be as he speaks, all the while considering the next steps in ensuring Will’s safety..</p>
<p>“I don’t know, let me..” He steps from the bathroom, finds his coat hanging near the door where he usually puts it after coming home. Keys jingle in the pocket when he pats down the fabric.. Peeking through the window reveals his car is in the driveway. Shoes are on the rack where he always puts them. “Yeah.. Yeah they are.” </p>
<p><em>“So we can assume you drove yourself home successfully.. Have you eaten?”</em> </p>
<p>Somehow it makes sense, for that to be Hannibal’s next question. “I’m not… sure. I don’t feel particularly hungry..” Quite the opposite actually, he feels nauseous, moreso at the idea of eating. “Head hurts, though.” </p>
<p><em>“Tell me, does it feel as if you’ve hit it somehow? No goose eggs, Will?”</em> This question almost seems perfunctory- As if Hannibal already knows the answer, but the thought gets set aside- It’s hard to read tone through voice alone, and the phone hardly does Hannibal’s voice any justice.. The thought doesn’t make any sense, <em>none of this</em> is making any sense, the anxiety or whatever the hell is wrong with him is just… Playing tricks on him, making him <em>paranoid</em>..</p>
<p>Will checks diligently, runs the pads of his shaking fingers over his scalp searchingly, but in the end he doesn’t find anything- Fists his hand in his hair and pulls <em>hard</em> instead, needing to feel the strain of it for <em>some </em>kind of relief to the pressure. “No.. No just a migraine.”</p>
<p> “<em>Good.. That’s good, Will. Have you taken anything for it yet?”</em></p>
<p>“Yeah, Aspirin, just now.” For all the good that does..</p>
<p><em>“Make sure to drink a glass of water. Eat something small, if you can.. Even if you don’t feel up to it. Can you do that for me?”</em> </p>
<p>“Yeah I’ll.. I’ll do that. Sorry for calling late- I hate to bother you before dinner..” </p>
<p> <em>“You never need apologize for calling me, Will. No matter the hour.”</em> </p>
<p>Will isn’t sure how to respond to that- Hannibal’s words leaving him feeling more cared for than he’s unaccustomed to.. Though it <em>does </em>help to ease his guilt a little, Hannibal has never struck him as a man who says anything he doesn’t mean. </p>
<p>“Alright.. Thank you..” He doesn’t feel hungry, but he <em>does </em>feel tired.. While he might not remember the hours prior, his body certainly does. “I think.. I think I’m going to try and sleep..” </p>
<p> <em>“You’re more than welcome, Will. Rest sounds wise, I hope that it helps to ease your migraine.”</em></p>
<p>“That’s the goal.. Goodnight, Dr. Lecter..” </p>
<p> "<em>Goodnight, Will. Sleep well, and call me if you need anything.”</em> He sounds so genuine, his concern failing to grate on Will as it might with anyone else- Perhaps because it doesn’t feel like pity. Hannibal doesn’t treat Will like he’s something fragile, or like he’s incapable. He’s not some unfortunate to be coddled or cooed over in Hannibal’s eyes, and that’s a relief to him. Instead of making Will feel as though his skin is crawling, Hannibal’s show of concern is… a comfort.</p>
<p>Will hangs up rather than answering, staring at Hannibal’s number on the screen for a moment before he pockets it with a sigh... He wonders what it is Hannibal has in the oven. Knowing Hannibal whatever it is will likely turn out delicious, and filling.. If he lingers on the mental imagery long enough he can feel the heat rising from the ovens door, smell something savory and rich fill the air.. It’s almost enough to summon a <em>real </em>appetite.. Probably <em>would </em>too, if he didn’t feel so awful. As it is, Will does as he had said he would- drinking a full glass of water and eating a piece of toast.. Hardly comparable to the dinner he’s sure Hannibal is having, but it’s what he feels he’s most likely to keep down.</p>
<p> After going through the motions of rinsing his glass and returning it to the cabinet from which it came, he climbs into bed. He doesn’t bother reprimanding Winston when the dog jumps up onto it with him- Though he isn’t necessarily <em>supposed</em> to be up there and he knows it.. Will could use the company, though. The anchor that the dogs presence provides.. He breathes in, eyes the dim light of the clock beside his bed, feels the warmth of Winston’s weight at his feet.. That dog always knows when Will is struggling- Would have made a good service dog, in another life.. Will might have wondered if he’d had any training with his previous owner, but if that were the case he would have been chipped, not left dragging a rope around his neck in the middle of the road. It’s probably just to do with his breed, instead.</p>
<p>He closes his eyes, and he isn’t surprised when the image of a wooden fox comes to mind, painted on the backs of his eyelids- He used to whittle as a kid.. His father had taught him, work-roughened hands offering a small sharp pocket knife, showing him how to work the wood down into his own design.. He thinks of the Carver, the careful attention to detail he puts into each carving, wonders how long they must take him.. The first body had held a dove, a symbol of peace... He lets the pendulum swing, sees the knife as it shaves the wood down into shape with such care and patience.. A meditative process, all leading up to the kill- How lovingly he replaces their hearts with effigies to their true nature.. He doesn’t know when he’d stopped whittling, only that he hasn’t done it for a long, <em>long</em> time… </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I Heard a Scream In The Woods Somewhere</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/><em> “My dad had been out late for work, he was working almost constantly to keep us afloat really, so I was alone a lot, and I… I couldn’t sleep. I remember sitting on the porch, and the moon was up but it was.. It was dark.” </em>  <br/><br/>Each breath comes with the tight ache of bitter cold in his lungs, puffs of air that cloud in the space before him in pale plumes of mist..<br/><br/><em>  He chuckles a little, shakes his head. “There was this.. Scream. Sounded like a woman or.. Or a kid.” He’d dropped his pocketknife and his latest piece to the floor with a clatter- His knife had fallen through the thick boards of the porch, forgotten. </em><br/><br/>Fallen leaves crunch under bare feet, and there is no cricketsong to fill the air- Too chilled for them to come out and seek the company of each other, too unforgiving..<br/><br/>"<em>Anyway, I ran out into the woods before I could think. Not my brightest moment.. I was barefoot, got all cut up on the briars, and the screaming kept happening, echoing through the trees.. An awful noise...” He remembers the sound to this day- The sound that felt like ice water at the back of his neck, instinctive terror.. The trees from his memories creep in at the edges of his vision, blending seamlessly in with the decor of Hannibal’s office in Will’s imagination.</em><br/><br/>There are shallow lacerations on his feet and ankles, they sting and bleed sluggishly in the chilled air.. The trees move in a strong a gust of it- “ <em>Shhhhh</em>” they tell him, over the thuds of hoovefalls on the damp earth just behind him, churning the soil, or is that the sound of his own pulse in his ears..? <em>Why does he need to stay quiet..?</em> The breeze carries the scent of blood.</p>
<p><br/>"<em>It was just foxes, though. They were.. Well, busy. Turns out foxes scream as a mating call, unbeknownst to me at the time..” Will smiles at his own youthful folly, shaking his head- “Like I said, it’s nothing all too consequential. Sometimes I still wake up to them going at it when the season is right- A common thing with how far out I am.”</em> <br/><br/><em>Hannibal huffs an amused breath, his warm fox-eyes shining- “What did you think you were running out towards?”</em><br/><br/><em> I don’t know- Someone who needed help, probably.” At the time Will had been too startled to even run in for a flashlight, or a weapon of some sort</em> .<br/><br/><em>“And what would you have done?” Hannibal tilts his head in that familiar way of his, sitting forward as if he would like nothing more than to hear Will’s answer, always so invested in what Will has to say.</em>.<br/><br/><em> In all honesty Will had never thought that far, acting on instinct- Running towards danger rather than away. “Helped, I guess. However I could.”</em><br/><br/><em>“Little has changed, I see.” A crown of antlers begin to reach towards the ceiling from Hannibal’s head, twisted and blackened like ebony.. When the man smiles, his canines are too sharp.</em>.<br/><br/><em>That earns a chuckle as Will shakes his head- “No, I guess not.</em>”<br/><br/><em>The trees have taken over Hannibal’s office now, surrounding them in thick overgrowth out from which landmarks of Hannibal’s decor still make themselves present- The sound of a branch cracking underfoot sends Will’s head snapping in it’s direction.</em>  <br/><br/><em>“Will, is something the matter..?”</em>  <br/><br/><em>When Will turns to face Hannibal again he seems… Wrong. The antlers still adorn his head, and his features seem.. Stretched. Gaunt. He looks concerned as he reaches towards Will- And Will closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms against them and feeling the hard press of bone beneath his skin as he takes a deep gasp breath, but when he opens them there is.. A creature, in Hanniball’s place. Something starved, dark leathery skin pulled taut over bone, milky pale eyes that stare at him with malice and desire as its clawed and elongated hand reaches for him- Hungry.<br/><br/></em><br/><br/><br/>Will doesn’t remember falling asleep. Isn’t sure he’s awake now- This feels so much like a dream he’s had.. Or a memory.. His <em>skin </em>hurts, like it’s too tight, he becomes aware of the fact that he’s <em>parched</em>- Shaking like a leaf in the midst of a storm.. It’s hard to think past the thick fog in his head, the ache in his teeth.. Moonlight filters in dappled  through the gently swaying trees, their branches making shadows shift and writhe on the ground, whispering secrets that he isn’t privy to, in a language that he can’t understand… <em>Shhhh</em>...<br/><br/>He can’t see the light from his house, unmoored on a violent and unkind sea with no beacon to guide him… He hasn’t stuck to the familiar paths well-worn into the set of woods on his property- Everything looks different in this light, distorted... If these are even the woods he thinks they are.. There are no landmarks.. It’s difficult to tell what time it is using the sky this time, not with any accuracy, the trees are too thick to get a clear view of the sky.. but at best guess.. It’s been a few hours. If this is the same night… Drowning in uncertainty, a shudder shakes his form from his bones outward. Wrapping his arms around himself, Will rubs his palms where they rest over the bare skin of his upper arms to try and work some heat into them... It’s a grounding feeling, self soothing as he turns in a circle where he stands, a desperate attempt to get his bearings.. He’s always been able to rely on his sense of direction in the past, never before has he felt so entirely <em>lost</em>.<br/><br/>He closes his eyes, focuses on the combat breathing that he was taught as a trainee- And again, but Hannibal.. He has a tendency to forget it when he needs it most, but he desperately needs to clear his head, force his body to <em>relax</em> ..<br/><br/>In through the nose- <em>four seconds</em>.<br/><br/>He thinks of running water. Rooting his feet in the river silt so he isn’t swept off by the current-<br/><br/>Hold-<em>four seconds</em>.<br/><br/>He imagines freediving, as he had when he was young- Pushing past the initial panic of air deprivation and water pressure to open his eyes, look past the sting of salt to the life below..<br/><br/>Out through the mouth-<em>four seconds.</em>..<br/><br/>A piercing scream cuts through the night, efficiently piercing the bubble of calm he’d been trying to build for himself almost as quickly as he’d been able to establish it.. His heart jackrabbits in his chest and pounds in his ears, he can <em>feel it in his throat</em>-<br/><br/>The woods around him are a blur, and dead leaves and earth get kicked up under his feet as he runs like a frightened animal through the trees. He’s blind to what direction his legs are carrying him, sprinting in a mad dash for something unattainable as gnarled branches reach and snag at his sleep clothes and skin-<br/><br/>Is he running towards the scream, reckless as he had once been as a child? Or away from it, taught with age that running <em>towards</em> danger is a fools errand..? But his sense of direction is skewed and warped to the point that he couldn’t say definitively either way, all that he knows is he is <em>running</em>...<br/><br/>And that something is chasing him.<br/><br/>The dappled shadows on the forest floor shift and undulate around him, and the sound of hooves pound on the cold damp earth in pursuit- The taste of blood sits metallic and acrid in Will’s mouth as he flees from the creature that chases him, adrenaline coursing through his veins and heightening his senses as he pushes his body beyond its limits in efforts to escape. The patterns of the tree branches painted on the forest floor take the form of antlers, and bile rises in his throat alongside the instinctual fear of the <em>hunted</em> that rattles in his bones and urges him onward insistently.<br/><br/><em>Run</em>- Each drum of his pulse tells him..<br/><br/><em>Run or die</em>- And Will is inclined to agree, running with everything that he has because it’s all that he <em>can</em> do, because <em>his life depends on it</em>..<br/><br/>These woods seem so much bigger than they’ve ever been, there are no visible landmarks to guide him, no familiar paths that lead him home- Just the knowledge that he needs to move further away from what’s behind him to spur him onward, <em>if he can just get far enough.</em>.<br/><br/>Will’s bare foot collides with something heavy and soft, sending him sprawling into the leaves that fly up around him and stick to his skin, tangling within sweat dampened hair- He’s actively hyperventilating now, all control over his breathing long gone and replaced by the mind numbing panic that races through him as he scrambles across the forest floor and away from...<em>Away from-</em><br/><br/>“Oh.. Oh shit..”<br/><br/>A body lays near his own in a nest of leaves and branches, its front carved open as if claws had pierced into its gut, entrails strewn about carelessly.. Blood soaks the leaflitter around them, coats Will’s skin where he had fallen into the mess, and the face… He’s going to be sick, he thinks through the haze, even as he crawls forward on his hands and knees to plunge his hands into the gaping chest cavity before him, because he <em>has to know.</em>. Will digs through the still-hot viscera until he finds what he’s looking for- Past the ribs and behind shredded and deflated lungs where the heart should be, his fingers find the slick form of a wooden statue.. Just as he knew there would be..<br/><br/>Pulling it free reveals a wolf, it’s face lifted up to the moonlight in an endless howl- The blood coating it’s surface making it look black in his trembling hands.. He can <em>hear</em> it’s mournful call..<br/><br/>He.. He needs to leave.. Needs to get help.<br/><br/>Call.. Call Jack- Tell him there’s been a new body…<br/><br/>Blood is still sticky and dark on his skin, his hands.. He clutches the carved wolf to his own chest as he stumbles to his feet once more.. He’s contaminated the scene, but the creature won’t be far behind- He <em>knows</em>, recognizes in the hollowness of its eyes and the shape of its emaciated body that it can never be satisfied.. It’s <em>wasteful</em>, even, to leave it’s meal out in the open like this...<br/><br/>The sharp crack of a branch underfoot resonates through the forest, heralding the beasts slow and looming approach.. Their gazes meet over the cooling corpse, and the creature <em>smiles</em>. Will feels frozen in place, like a stag caught up in the headlights of a truck.. He can feel the vibrations of the things hoof-falls, like the hum of an engine on the pavement.. Can do nothing but watch as it tilts its head curiously and bares it’s sharp teeth in an awful leer- And he shudders with revulsion as it reaches for him, offers it’s bony and clawed hand as if welcoming him to itself, or to the body laid out like a feast between them..<br/><br/>Will breaks himself out of the momentary daze, pivoting on his heel before he pushes himself into a sprint, fleeing from the creature once again despite the sharp and immediate pain in his twisted ankle, and the exhaustion that burns in his calves, his thighs, his lungs-<br/><br/>..<em>Will</em>.<br/><br/>A solid weight collides with his back, tackling him to the forest floor as he gives an animalistic and outraged cry- Will writhes in the creatures punishing grip and tears at it’s thick skin with his fingernails, strikes out with his fists.. His teeth are bared in a blind rage, fueled by nothing but instinct and the constant thrum of <em>fearfearfear</em>-<br/><br/><em>Will</em>..!<br/><br/>Clawed hands try to shred at his throat and he thrashes under the creatures weight, turning his head to sink his teeth deeply into thick skin- A flood of rich iron hits his tongue as he feels the surface give to the pressure of his jaw, and he <em>tears</em>..<br/><br/>There’s a gasp, and a sudden sort of stillness falls upon them as the creature clutches it’s arm to staunch the bleeding… It’s such a <em>human</em> gesture that Will hesitates, gasping for unsteady breaths as he tries to grasp for elusive strands of reality that threaten to slip between his bloodsoaked fingers…   The creature is still straddling his chest, strong thighs having managed to pin his arms to his sides..<br/><br/>“Will..”<br/><br/>“Ha.. Hannibal..?” Will asks, trying to make sense of what he’s seeing- Hollow cheeks and lifeless eyes stare back down at him, forcing him to shut his own tightly so that he doesn’t drown in their <em>hunger</em>, painful as it is insatiable...<br/><br/>“Yes… It’s me, Will.. Breathe for me, can you do that..?” His voice sounds distorted, like it’s only coming to Will in waves over the low endless droning of the beast atop him, a sound that forces its way into his head with blunt and painful pressure, resonating within his lungs and rattling about in his skull until it’s impossible to <em>think</em>…<br/><br/>But he tries.<br/><br/>In through the nose.. <em>Four seconds</em>.<br/><br/>His hands still feel tacky with drying blood, pinned as they are to his sides, but he’d dropped the wolf statue in their fight somewhere along the line..<br/><br/>Hold.. <em>Four seconds.</em><br/><br/>Gradually, the humming begins to fade enough for Will’s thoughts to start clearing.. But he’s still <em>trapped</em>-<br/>Out through the mouth.. <em>Four seconds.</em></p>
<p><br/>Will lunges forward, throwing the creature off balance so that he’s astride it’s sharp and bony form, giving a feral and triumphant snarl as his hand finally closes around it’s throat..<br/><br/>Except the eyes that meet his own aren’t white. They’re a dark and rich maroon, pupils blown wide as they gaze up at Will.. The familiar curve of Hannibal’s lips are parted in surprise, and he doesn’t struggle under Will’s punishing grip.. If anything, it feels almost as if Hannibal is pressing <em> up into </em> his hand before he has the chance to hurry and release the doctor.. Scrambling up and off of Hannibal’s body until his back meets the hard cold bark of a tree. “ <em> Hannibal </em> ….?”<br/><br/>The man in question pushes himself to sit up with a wince, raising a bloody- <em> Oh god, I bit him </em> , Will thinks half-hysterically- hand to his windpipe, and the slight clearing of his throat is such a polite sound that it’s startling how poorly it fits this moment. “Who… Who did you <em> think </em>  I was..?” Hannibal asks, winded, his voice hoarse. Of course his voice is hoarse, <em> Will just strangled his psychiatris t.<br/></em><br/>“There was… was something chasing me…”<br/><br/>He feels faint, vision swimming- He thinks he might have hit his head on the way down to the ground, everything is a fog and his ears are ringing… He lets the tree behind him support his weight as he closes his eyes, feels another shudder overtake him. “M’gonna be sick.” Is the last thing he remembers saying before his vision fades out.<br/><br/></p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. My Dearest Love, I'm Not Done Yet</h2></a>
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  <span>The sharp sting of isopropyl alcohol is what summons Will to consciousness with a hiss as he jerks into a sitting position, only to be met with the sight of Hannibal.. The man is seated at the end of Will’s bed, Will’s foot in his lap as he delicately dabs away at dried blood with alcohol soaked cotton balls..</span>
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  <span>“My apologies, Will.. I would normally use something milder, but this is what you had in your bathroom..” He murmurs, focus still on the task at hand- Will’s ankles and feet are covered in scrapes, and his memory is spotty at best as to what the hell happened.. But there are bruises coloring Hannibal’s throat of his handspread, further proof that his actions hadn’t been imagined.. </span>
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  <span>“I hurt you..” Wil whispers, resisting the urge to reach out, ghost his fingers over the damage he’d caused.. Hannibal looks up then, his eyes meeting Will’s, and he smiles. </span>
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  <span>“Nothing life threatening, I assure you.. And nothing I haven’t already forgiven. You weren’t aware of yourself, at the time..” He answers, his voice gentle despite the rasp that Will had caused. What if he hadn’t snapped out of it quickly enough..? He could have killed Hannibal.. <em>Might have</em>, even... </span>
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  <span>Will doesn’t answer immediately, his gaze falling to the gauze bandage placed neatly on his arm- He remembers the bright taste of blood-<em>Hannibal’s blood</em>- on his tongue.. “How bad did I..?” </span>
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  <span>Something flashes behind Hannibal’s eyes, then- Something Will doesn’t recognize.. “You thought you were fighting for your life, clearly.. And you acted accordingly. I had to glue the site- But fortunately for me, you had suitable supplies in your first aid kit.” </span>
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  <span>Will’s heart drops to his stomach at the knowledge, guilt weighing on him heavily. “I’m… I’m sorry I don’t.. I don’t know what I was…” He remembers the antlered Wendigo as it towered over him, shudders despite the warmth of his house.. “I think I’m.. sick. Something is wrong with me..” </span>
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  <span>“I’ve been considering the same possibility myself- It’s what caused me to drive here after you called.. Rightfully so, it seems.” Hannibal goes back to tending Will’s injuries with far more care than Will feels entitled to, but he can’t bring himself to pull away and deny the mans kindness.. “I may have been wrong, in my assumption that what you were dealing with has merely been the aftereffects of trauma.” </span>
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  <span>“I thought…  There was a body… Another Carver victim..” Will confesses quietly, looking down at his hands- Clean of any blood.. </span>
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  <span>“Are you certain..? I saw nothing, though it was rather dark out..” Hannibal frowns in concentration, gently applying salve to the scrapes on Will’s ankle, palm warm as it cups his heel.. “You’ve sprained your ankle, and appear to have fractured the Hallux..” </span>
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  <span>Will blinks, broken free of his thoughts momentarily, brows furrowed in confusion- “Hallux..?” </span>
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  <span>“Your big toe, Will.” </span>
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  <span>Ah. “I think I tripped…” He frowns, swallows- “The body, it.. I don’t know. I might’ve been dreaming…It had my face.” He says finally, shaking his head- “I don’t.. I don’t think it was real.” He doesn’t want to admit that had it truly been real, he would be covered in more blood than his own right now.. Instinct had driven him to act against everything he knows about not contaminating a crime scene.. He hadn’t hesitated to dive right in.</span>
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  <span>“We can look together, if you like. Once the sun has risen.. Won’t be long, now.” Hannibal responds, sparing a glance to the window- Through which the first bits of grey light can be seen.. “However first, I would like to see that you rest more, and eat..” The man’s voice carries that same warm concern that drips through the cracks of Will’s barriers like a balm to his wounds.. </span>
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  <span>“Yeah.. alright.” Will lets out a shuddery breath as he lets himself lay back against his pillows, closing his eyes and rubbing the heels of his palms against them. “Thank you, for coming out here..” He says, knowing that Hannibal is hardly likely to accept an apology from him, no matter how badly Will wants to apologize for all of.. this.</span>
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  <span>“Of course, Will..  Not only are you my patient, I consider you my friend.. Your wellbeing is of utmost importance to me.” Though Hannibal has finished tending to and bandaging Will’s injuries he doesn’t set aside Will’s feet, merely resting a warm palm over his ankle carefully- As if shielding it from further harm.. He finds himself speechless as he listens to the other man speak, his heart craving the tenderness in Hannibal’s voice like nothing he’s ever known before.. “We will see you through this, and I am glad that I decided to come tonight.”</span>
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  <span>Will nods faintly, swallowing past the burning at his throat- And in his eyes. “There’s uh.. Chamomile tea.. In the cabinet. You’re welcome to it, for your throat..” It’s the least that Will can offer, after what he’s done. Will doesn’t drink it anyway- He’d bought a box of sachets to see if it would help with his difficulties sleeping at all, but nothing came of it.. </span>
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  <span>“I may accept that offer, but for now you should sleep.. I will be here when you wake, and see that your dogs are fed for the time being..” </span>
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  <span>Will can already feel the threads of it pulling at his consciousness, exhausted from this whole ordeal.. “Okay..” he murmurs, giving a heavy sigh as he curls onto his side, clutching the blankets close to himself as Hannibal gently shifts his feet free of his lap and helps to cover them so that they’ll remain warm. </span>
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  <span>“Hannibal..?” He asks drowsily, forcing his eyes to blink open to seek the other man out, and Hannibal obligingly steps to the head of Will’s bed and crouches so that they’re eye-level, his expression soft. </span>
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  <span>“Yes, Will..?” he asks, head tilting, and for the briefest of moments Will can still see antlers like smoke over his head before they fade out.. </span>
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  <span>His eyes drop to the bruising on Hannibal’s throat, and he does reach out this time, tracing the line of them remorsefully before he can think better of it. “Thank you.. For coming to wake me up..” He says finally, eyes slipping shut to the gentle feeling of fingers stroking his hair back away from his forehead..</span>
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  <span> “Always, dear Will..”</span>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that concludes the fic! I signed up for MHBB to have something good to look forward to in the hellish year of 2020, to set a goal that I could accomplish, and I think that I've done that. Thank you so much for reading! </p>
<p> I know it leaves everything super open-ended, it was my intention to leave a lot of things up to interpretation, this was more of a character study/horror piece than romance, and seeing as this was written from Will's perspective, there are lot of gaps and empty spaces- He's a very unreliable narrator at this point in his life.. I've never written Will while he's under the influence of Encephalitis before, so this has been very interesting for me to explore- I really wanted to delve into the horrors of being that sick, and I hope I did Will justice.. </p>
<p>You may be wondering-</p>
<p>Who was the Carver? <br/>Was the body in the woods really there..?<br/>Does Hannibal help Will actually get a diagnosis for his encephalitis this time? <br/>That's up to you, I would love love LOVE to hear what your answers are to these questions, nothing would make me happier than to hear what you think about this work, and where you think they go from here! &lt;3</p>
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